


My Pensieve of Stories

by bluemeanies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, One Shot Collection, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemeanies/pseuds/bluemeanies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Posting of my one shots.</p><p>Part 1- New stuff; written post Deathly Hallows<br/>1: Hatstalls-The evolution of the sorting hat throughout the years<br/>2: That Awful Boy-Petunia reaches out to the only wizard she knows after being stuck with Harry<br/>3: Courtship: A rather awkward meeting between the head of the Order of the Phoenix and his top informant unexpectedly becomes a job interview (gen)<br/>4: Voldemort Wants You to Eat Your Vegetables: Minerva McGonagall doubts the Headmaster's judgement and sanity when he informs her of his appointment of Severus Snape to the position of Potion's Master and Head of Slytherin. Or she would if she thought he had any when it came to running her school.<br/>5: To Regulus: When you doubt the Dark Lord you are alone, even with those who share those doubts.<br/>6: The 1982 English World Cup Squad: Scott Wood, assistant coach to the English national Quidditch team, scouts the Gryffindor vs Slytherin game in the spring of 1978<br/>7: Death Eaters' Ladies Auxiliary pt 1: Slytherin girls talk on the way to Hogwarts 1981<br/>8: Death Eaters' Ladies Auxiliary pt 2: 1997, second verse same as the first</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hatstalls

**Author's Note:**

> All works stand on their own, though some work well paired. Current plan is to post them in order of ff.net favorites, though I might let a tangental follow up not make the order. Not sure about a story I have that is definitely M and was meant to be the first chapter of a longer project that has been abandoned. Characters will be added as stories featuring them are added, not all stories will feature Helga and the Sorting Hat. I will post the next story when I feel like it but I have eleven or twelve that will fit in part one-new wave post Deathly Hallows fic and ten old school fics/drabbles from the post GoF/OoTP era that will make part two if this gets any responce. Chaptered fics that were abandoned are not planned to be added here.
> 
> Enjoy the Sorting hat through the ages.
> 
> Oh, and JK Rowling gets all the moneys.

She may have been Godric Gryffindor’s hat, but over time she found that in spirit she belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. If Godric were to ever have any complaints (which he couldn’t seeing as it was centuries since his last dragon hunt had turned him to a pile of ash), she’d have turned it right around and blamed it on him for giving her the ability to learn. Sometimes she wondered just how much of the original founders were left in the sorting process and how much was the effect of thousands of encounters with scared 11 year olds on her growing consciousness. What she did know was that even now on occasion her choice would be doubted, restrained, by some residual power of some founder causing what many generations of Hogwarts’s staff groaningly referred to as a Hatstall.

_1112_

The first Hatstall of note coincided with the last year of the founders at Hogwarts. Salazar was more than eighty years disappeared after the argument, Rowena had passed five years later from a broken heart and Godric had finally been truthful when he said that this would be ‘one last Dragon hunt’ fifty years ago but Helga had been keeping the school running since then with great success. Through her hard work and tenacity the school had survived dark wizard attacks, a dragon pox epidemic, at least a century of operating in the red and the annoying deference of all the replacement heads on the heads council to the last remaining founder. She had solved that last one by resigning as Head of Hufflepuff and making herself the first Headmistress of Hogwarts. Through it all the hat had been invaluable in continuing the legacy of both herself and her three departed colleagues, even though she was starting to doubt it was such a good idea. Wouldn’t it be better for the students to define themselves than to be defined by ideas at least a century old on who would be the best students? 

Lucky for her today the hat would start down the road of redefining the houses. And it would start with the smallest, most difficult house – Slytherin. Salazar had insisted that his students have the purest bloodlines, indeed he insisted that their bloodlines be pure at least two generations past at the founding of Hogwarts. Further winnowing it down to only those with ambition and cunning had given the house far less than a quarter of the student body. The hat supposed it had three choices – it could let Slytherin wither to nothingness, it could let in students whose ancestor’s met its instructions from Salazar who lacked cunning or ambition or it could let in students who were ambitious and cunning who didn’t quite meet Salazar’s definition. The first option was tempting but likely to result in an occasional table of one when the rare student who met the standards centuries hence sat under the hat and the hat could not override its command. The second option would mean defining Slytherin house by purity of blood solely, and the gods knew that there was already enough of that running around.

The third option meant sorting Tristan Malfoi into Slytherin despite the raging coming from the Slytherin quarter of her mind. It had been thirty minutes since the boy had put on the hat, and she was still torn. The parts of her that she identified as Godric said that the boy was too much a coward for him. Rowena tried pacification insisting that it was his great-grandmother who was muggle which would make him two generations pure at this time, wouldn’t that be more fair than being stuck a century in the past? Helga said she’d take him if she had to but he was definitely a snake by personality. Salazar refused. Tristan was starting to fear he’d be kicked out of school as the unified voice kept asking questions about what he wanted to do with his life, wasn’t he clever to convince the cook to let him have seconds from the kitchen when father refused and what a cunning young lad destined for greatness he was. At an hour the hat knew that it could either just put the boy in Hufflepuff and give up or gather its strength to override the part of her brain contributed by Salazar. It opened its brim and whispered ‘Slytherin’. At this Tristan moved to take off the hat and go to the green and silver table before the hat changed its mind and sent him home but everyone else was puzzled. Having already made its decision declaring ‘Slytherin’ the second time in her typical yell was much easier. Most in the great hall were relieved that they could proceed and perhaps eat before bed; only around half a dozen realized that this was the hats first act of independence.

_1290_

By now the staff had learned to equate a hatstall with a student who was almost but not quite a Slytherin. While no student had yet to match Tristan’s hour, plenty of others who did not have sufficiently ancient bloodlines were subjected to anywhere between five and twenty minutes of waiting. Indeed the time was decreasing as the Salazar part of her mind was fighting his battles on the notion of two generations purity instead of three centuries of antiquity. Anyone but the Sorting Hat would expect the next epic hatstall to come from this direction. The Sorting Hat knew it would come from Ravenclaw.

Rowena Ravenclaw had instructed the hat to send the smartest students her way when they were first putting brains in her. This had always caused some contention with the men who would insist that if they were smart and brave they were just as much a Gryffindor or if they were smart and cunning and pure-blooded surely they must be Slytherin. Helga would always yield on the smart and hardworking, in her opinion they tended to get a bit full of themselves and look down on their classmates who put in just as much effort for inferior results and it wouldn’t do for the poor dears to be discouraged by their classmates. This system mostly worked but it gave her hat ache.

It also gave the Headmaster a headache. Darius Prince had been a very bright student but rather lazy. Sixty years ago there had been an epic row between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw parts of her mind over the boy, and even now the Sorting Hat doubted her choice to just end it and put the boy in Ravenclaw. He had been known in school and indeed later in life not for diligently researching a problem to reach the proper theoretical solution but rather for finding a work around to get things right quickly without having to bother with the principle of the matter. Some called him a cheat, some called him practical, but whatever they thought they had to admit that he got things done. Darius’s current problem was that with one house whose students were smarter than the others the teachers were close to open rebellion for having to create an entirely separate curriculum for them. Indeed in the greater wizarding community some were starting to consider a Ravenclaw Hogwarts’s graduate as greater than any other Hogwarts’s graduate, leading to problems with the other houses and lots of angry letters from parents when their children were sorted elsewhere. His solution had been to put on the hat himself to convince her to put more average students in Ravenclaw. It had not started well at all, with the Rowena part of her mind decrying his treachery. When Salazar and Darius found themselves in agreement on the need to place those with a love of learning, an innate curiosity, and openness to new knowledge regardless of source, the hat sensed trouble coming. When the Godric part started agreeing and even Helga was caught by the fairness of it the Hat knew that there would be trouble at this sort. She hadn’t known it would be young Scamander that caused it.

Francis Scamander would have always been a tough sort. It was nothing but his deepest wish to know and find every creature on the planet, even those that had been excluded from the Ark. Some might consider this the type of ambition that would place him in Slytherin, but he sought for nothing beyond the knowing. He would venture close to all sorts of dangerous beasts, having narrowly escaped death twice, but this was more from obliviousness than any sort of Gryffindor bravery. In his specialty he would work as hard as anyone, always searching sometimes finding, but in anything beyond that he put in an amount of effort that could either be categorized as little or none. He had little use for books, having a strong preference for practical knowledge and only opening them when circumstance necessitated. In the ordinary course of things he would have been Helga’s, Hufflepuff taking in anyone who came to the school regardless of their qualities because she respected their right to learn. In light of the headmaster’s problems three quarters of the hat decided that he was the very prototype of the new style of Ravenclaw student.

The hat kept prodding him to gush about his desire to know everything he could know about animals and mostly directing him away from everything else as it approached Tristan’s hour record. The problem was that the Hat and three quarters of its mind knew how to subdue Salazar’s objections, at least with regards to one subset of students that by now he secretly actually wanted, but it had yet to start overruling the others. The hat was sure that the will of the current headmaster should have some degree of influence over how the school was organized, certainly more than a centuries old memory of only one of the four founders. When it finally said “Ravenclaw” exactly one minute after Tristan’s record had been surpassed (the Salazar part of her mind refused to act sooner, presumably because he no longer wanted to hold that record) it was not in its normal yell but definitely loud enough to be heard. Progress. Most of the staff rolled their eyes and muttered ‘bloody Slytherin’. Darius Prince smiled, correctly guessing what had happened. The Rowena part of the hat’s mind objected strenuously for centuries afterwards to any attempt to place any of his descendants in her house. The braininess of the students slowly worked its way to near balance among the houses, though Ravenclaws were still slightly smarter and definitely knew more because that was what they wanted.

_1458_

Sorting, thought the hat, was starting to become easy. It had been decades since a hatstall of over ten minutes, and seeing as it had been the point where Salazar had been broken down to accept students who were only one generation pure on at least one side the quickness of the resolution placing the kid there was more a triumph than a failure. It was easy now to overcome all but the strongest of objections from a single founder if the other three quarters were in agreement. It should have been ready for a new hatstall. Hogwarts was due.

Bilius Weasley III was the second son in a wizard family who had sent their students to Hogwarts for the past century. The Weasley’s usually fell beneath the hats trouble detectors, not being ambitious enough or knowledge seeking enough or brave enough to attract the attention of three of the founders and had thus had uneventful school years in Hufflepuff. The Helga part of the hat rather wanted these pleasant experiences to continue. The problem was that no one else agreed. Billius the third was an unbelievably curious and intelligent boy who loved learning. He was also adventurous and fearless, exploring well beyond his family’s lands and unafraid to offend adults many years his senior and many ranks his father’s superior. He didn’t particularly care about that, when he grew up he was going to rise high enough that they’d have to answer to him anyway. One look into the boys mind and all the founders wanted him. Quickfire contradictory questions from the hat directed by each of the founders did little to break the deadlock. Nor did the minutes where the hat ignored him and focused on getting an agreement from the founders. Not even Helga would bow out.

A quarter of an hour after her record was broken the hat began to fear she’d be stuck on top of this carrot tops head forever. This made her determined to find his place. She was Hat, she may have come from the founders but she was not them. First she contemplated placing him in whatever house had the smallest incoming class but as fate would have it they were all even. Then she asked herself which house she would place him in if she had to decide. Unfortunately because she was equal parts the four who could not agree to begin with she could not reach a decision. Finally she decided she needed an outside tiebreaker and went to the only person she could reach.

“Boy,” she asked.

“Are you done yet?” he thought, “Only it’s taking a very long time and I’m starting to get hungry.”

“Not yet,” she said. “If you could choose your house, which house would you choose?”

The boy thought a minute, then replied, “I don’t know, they all seem good.”

“The sooner you choose, the sooner you can eat,” the hat entreated.

“Then… I guess Gryffindor seeing as it has a red shield and I have red hair,” he responded.

The hat thought this was one of the stupidest things she had ever heard, and then decided that by virtue of that she could eliminate Ravenclaw and Slytherin. And he certainly did not have any loyalty to his family’s tradition. Reluctantly she let his vote stand and called out “Gryffindor.” The four arguing factions of her mind stopped immediately, shocked that they had all been bypassed. No one at the high table understood what happened. When the headmaster (all headmasters & mistresses had learned from Darius Prince’s portrait that when they were confused about the Sorting or needed guidance regarding houses they should talk to the hat) asked the hat later that night what that was about and got the truthful answer he ended up laughing all night long.

_1642_

“I don’t believe in predestination,” a small voice said earnestly as she put on the sorting hat. Hat was taken aback. Usually children let her speak first, and those who didn’t would tell her exactly where they should be placed. Hat was not even entirely sure what the word meant, but after searching the girls mind and discovered it meant everything had a predetermined inalterable fate she decided she was offended.

“That is not what we do here,” she replied.

“That’s not what Professor Black said,” the girl replied. “He said that we would be placed in our houses and our house would determine how the next seven years of our lives would go and even after that.”

Hat decided that she would have to talk to Professor Black later, and contemplated how to respond. “I don’t want my future determined by a predestination hat,” the girl continued.

“I’m not a predestination hat,” the hat replied. A voice that she hadn’t heard in decades, not since she had decided to pull the four quarters of her mind into one solitary will muttered, “It would be much better if you were.” She supposed it was the Salazar part of her brain and it made her uneasy. Not only was it a sign that she was not as in charge as she thought but the idea of Salazar arranging the world how he pleased through her gave her the willies. Or at least three quarters of her- no, she wouldn’t let herself be like that again.

“Then what are you?” the girl replied.

“I’m a sorting hat, I determine where you go based on your personality,” Hat replied than worked at trying to determine the child’s personality beyond stubbornly contrarian. 

“Shouldn’t that place her in Gryffindor then?” a quarter of her mind started, she wasn’t sure if she should be glad that she was no longer able to tell if it was Rowena of Salazar. She hoped Salazar- that would mean only one quarter was her problem. “No respect for your centuries of wisdom and knowledge.”

“I’m not taking her, she’s muggleborn.” That was Salazar, so it meant two of them.

“What if my personality doesn’t fit into one of your prisons? Not brave, not smart, not ambitious, not particularly hardworking,” the girl said. 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking when I objected to this whole houses thing,” a third founders voice said.

The girl stopped, almost as if she had heard that. No other student had heard a voice other than Hat’s even when they were separate arguing quarters. “I’ll go to her house then.” The girl thought. The hat declared her “Hufflepuff”. It hadn’t been that long a hatstall, no teachers had even become curious, but Hat remembered it. Luckily when her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren came to Hogwarts they were always easy. The Boneses just told Hat they were Hufflepuff and Hat wasn’t going to argue it.

_1816_

There was no other way to put it, Hat was beginning to feel old and tired. 800 years of being divided four ways in mind with only one day a year where she actually had to do something was not good for her mental wellbeing. Sometimes she just wished that it would be over already, that someone else could take over. Of course they could never be as good as her, but things staying the same for so long might be more harmful than an imperfect change. Or she had had too much over the last couple centuries sorting the children of the Reformation and then the Enlightenment. Young ones just did not trust a talking hat like they used to. 

There were very few hatstalls now, not even for borderline cases. Children from wizarding families would just demand to be placed in the house of their fathers (or occasionally their mothers). Indeed, the worst wizardborn hatstalls were those demanding a hereditary house they were not suited to. But this was an era of free will and who was she to doubt a student’s decision. Only an 800 year old sentience designed for this, but that didn’t seem to matter. She wondered what this decision to let the student follow their fathers would amount to and what it was deciding if she really was a predestination hat. It didn’t seem good, especially with regards to Slytherin where heredity was added to purity requirement of two wizard parents that Hat still hadn’t been able to work down from. 

Hat isn’t exactly sure why she did it. Maybe it was the cold and wet of The Year Without Summer, maybe it was just fed up or maybe they shouldn’t have let the insane new headmistress Clotho Norn talk to Hat before sorting. Hat was being introspective and thinking on herself and her purpose in life. Hat discovered that for some unknown and probably unknowable reason she had a sword in her. And then the sword turned. 

Hat decided that this year she would be the only one to decide a student’s sorting, and anyone trying to naysay her whether a founder or a student would get the opposite of what they wanted. She split up traditional Slytherin families placing them across the four houses, with a Malfoy in Hufflepuff. She stuck a Prince in Ravenclaw and a Bones in Gryffindor. She would have put a Weasley in Slytherin if there had been one but more than made up for it by putting a young muggle-born named Bulstrode there instead. True, there were a few hatstalls as Hat fought putting students where they wanted to go when that was actually the only place that their personality would suggest. Hogwarts a History calls this The Year of Strange Sorting and many interesting things came of it. The Sorting Hat considers this year her masterpiece. Every year after this except Dumbledore’s first the headmaster or mistress has made sure to remind Hat not to behave like this again. She couldn’t if she tried; the founders came roaring back with a vengeance. Hat really wanted to find the sword again. 

_1941_

Sometimes a significant sorting did not cause a stall, or actually to be more specific on extremely significant sorting didn’t cause any stall at all, not even the type that lasted under five minutes. A boy named Tom M Riddle sat under her and she immediately saw that he would both be a good fit for Slytherin and at best a half-blood and thus had no chance. And that was as far as she got. Salazar’s voice called out “Mine” and hat did as he said to not give him chance to recant. Hat decided to view this as permission to no longer deny eminently suitable candidates a sorting into Slytherin on the basis of lineage, between this and Bulstrode working out there really was no reason not to. 

_1999_

Maybe there had been a reason not to, Hat thought, but nobody thought to make me a seer when they put those brains in me. How was she to know that letting Riddle go into Slytherin would lead to her almost getting burned to death? And should she tell someone she almost wouldn’t have minded if she had? Or at least half her mind thought it would have been a grand idea to just be rid of Sorting, and an alliance between Slytherin and Hufflepuff should be considered a dangerous thing. But she was a changing thing; she wasn’t stuck with a simple code on how to sort. She had the sword back now; she could be brave enough to sort how she wants. No more heredity for one, if she had gone with instinct and put Percy Weasley in Slytherin maybe he would of made the younger students fall in line. No more personal requests either. If everyone told each other that Slytherins were evil pureblood fanatics and everyone but evil pureblood fanatics asked not to go there what did free will create but a house of evil pureblood fanatics? Potter would have still been a split choice, true, but putting Goyle in Hufflepuff would be interesting. If she was a predestination hat she needed to start predestining a better future. And if she simply sorted kids based on personality only personality should count. As for all the rest, she would have to look over them as Helga had. 


	2. That Awful Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petunia Dursley reaches out to the only wizard she knows after being left Harry

She knew she shouldn’t be there. She shouldn’t be sitting in a coffee shop waiting for one of them to come talk to her when she could be at home and dry with little Dudders. She shouldn’t have had to deal with any of them anymore, not since her sister left for what she had presumed would be forever, and good riddance to that freak. Her sister, however, had had the amazing discourtesy to get herself blown up and leave Petunia taking care of her infant freak brat. The boy was proving to be clingy, always interrupting her with her Dudley as if demanding that he should get some attention too. This couldn’t continue, she had been done with the freaks and she would very much like to return to that state. And so she was waiting in the café waiting for the only freak she could remember who was still alive and might talk to her while the babies were being watched by the old cat lady who had just moved in down the street.

It had taken months to arrange this meeting, many letters sent to the address where it had always been claimed that normal mail delivery would be re-routed by those abnormal owls. She had almost given up, figuring that he had died in whatever nonsensical violence her sister had been caught up in when the return mail came telling her to meet him at this location at three. It was ten past now, only went to show that those people had no sense of manners.

She recognized him the instant that he walked into the door. She would have recognized him anywhere, the boy that she had always found creepy, dirty, ugly, awful and for one summer that she would never admit to, handsome. His clothing was completely appropriate for normal people, a black turtleneck and black slacks under a black overcoat, and was noticeably of a higher quality than the rags he wore as a boy. And yet seeing him now she detected that he was something that she had never noticed in him before - he was dangerous. Whether it was the way he carried himself, or the fact that her sister’s death had made that childish non-sense so much more immediate, she could not help but feel a new fear of him as he surveyed the café and walked directly to her table, taking a seat opposite her.

He ordered a cappuccino, and sat there in silence while he drank it down, neither of them sure how to start the conversation. When he had finished his beverage, he reached into his pocket and searched for his change. “Petunia, if you wish to speak with me I would suggest that you be quick about it.”

She gathered herself mentally than said, “I was wondering if I really had to take the boy.”

“Those are Dumbledore’s wishes,” Severus Snape replied.

“But he is just one man, surely everyone does not have to listen to him,” she begged. “There must be one of your lot who can take the boy, someone who can talk some sense into him; we can’t possibly continue to take care of him. Dumbledore does not have to be the one who decides.”

“I am not interested in opposing his wishes on this matter,” he responded.

“Then why did you agree to meet me,” she asked, trying not to seem too emotional in contrast to his calm demeanor.

“You have sent me thirty letters asking to meet,” he said. “I did not desire to receive many more before you stopped.”

“So you really don’t care, is that it,” Petunia started. 

“I am unclear as to why the guardianship of the Potter spawn should be remotely my concern,” Snape said. “Professor Dumbledore has his reasons, and while I cannot fathom his reasoning, I cannot come up with a reasonable alternative. I’m afraid I cannot help you get rid of the brat.”

“Why can’t you just take him?” Petunia asked. “You were her friend, you know your freak magic, and you could raise him.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied. “My job would not permit it, and considering that Dumbledore is the one who hired me, I do not believe I could keep it long if I defied him.”

She sighed in disappointment, but she had to find a way to get rid of the nightmare so she pressed on, “If you can’t take him, what about his father’s friends. I’m sure they would love to have him and it would solve all our problems. What about the handsome one with the motorcycle?”

“Sirius Black?” he asked, his previously blank eyes flashing with hatred. “He’s currently in jail as an accessory to your sister’s murder as well as for committing the murder of a wizard and thirteen muggles.”

“No more than he deserves then,” she replied. “The fat shy one?”

“Peter Pettigrew was most unfortunately murdered by the previously mentioned Mr. Black so I do not foresee him being able to take the boy at any point in the future,” he said in a tone that made it doubtful that he found Mr. Pettigrew’s death unfortunate at all.

“The tired shabby one?” she asked, despairing because this was her last option, the last of the people she had been introduced to at the brief visit she had paid to her sister’s wedding.

“Remus Lupin might be interested in taking the boy off your hands, but I highly doubt there is anyone who would let him. He would make a highly… undesirable guardian,” Snape said.

“Why?”

“For one thing he is a single man with no relation to the child, for another he is unemployed. He has spent most of this past year trying to drown his sorrows,” Snape replied. “There is also the fact that as a werewolf it would be illegal for him to have legal custody. If you are still interested I can give you his contact information so you bombard him with your letters and leave me alone.”

“So that’s it then?” Petunia said. “There is nothing I can do; I have to keep the brat.”

“Yes, you will have to keep the brat,” he said and started to put on his coat to leave.

“You know it’s all your fault,” she said, suddenly crying. He startled and looked at her for a second then looked away, proving her point. “If you hadn’t told her about magic she never would have gone to that freak school, never would have met that Potter and never would have gotten herself killed. If not for you my sister never would have left me and now she’s dead and you can’t even help me.”

He sat there for a moment, and then resumed putting on his coat. “Petunia, you’re making a scene,” he said before walking out of the café, leaving her alone.


	3. Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rather awkward meeting between the head of the Order of the Phoenix and his most valuable spy becomes a job interview.

Meeting with informants was always awkward. For one thing, informants tended to be apprehensive that the Dark Lord, as they called him, would find them out. Or, in rarer cases, they were worried that he would find out that they were false informants planted by Voldemort to send him and his Order of the Phoenix off in the wrong direction. Either way, they were always worried about being caught, because being caught would mean the end, it would mean death or prison or something worse.

And that was another reason that meeting with informants was always awkward, because he knew that they were right. His informants didn’t tend to last long. When they had sent in Order members to infiltrate the organization they were lucky if they came back in one piece for the first report let alone the twentieth. Some of the more peripheral sources, the smugglers and wives and occasionally children, those who were unmarked, lasted longer. But the best information always came from those on the inside, those who took the Mark to show their loyalty. And once you took the Mark Voldemort could always track you, would know where you were and would chase you to the ends of the earth for desertion. Albus Dumbledore had seen the mangled corpses of those who could not escape, so he took great effort to protect the identity of his sources.

This was the final reason that the meetings with his informants were awkward. It was prudent to assume that you would find unfriendly eyes upon you. Abandoned warehouses and desolate moors were believed to be secluded and good places to meet and therefore were frequently monitored. No, the best place to meet a source was out in the world, in a crowd of Muggles where Voldemort would not presume to look. Given that most of his co-conspirators were of a background that did not look kindly upon Muggles and were not always leaving their prejudices behind when eschewing the violence he always sought to choose places that presented Muggles in their most enjoyable and positive light. Like the movie theater, the bowling alley, fancy restaurants, music festivals and Shakespeare plays. Sometimes Dumbledore feared he was enjoying the meetings more than he should. And sometimes he was haunted by the laughter of an informant being introduced to the wonder that was Skee-Ball at the arcade by the seashore, only to be found dead a week later.

Today he was meeting his best at the roller disco. The man had sought him out ten months ago, last August, desperate for help, desperate for protection not for himself but for someone who he had not seen in years and was thought to be permanently estranged from. For such a high level informant to come to him with such sincerity and such useful information had seemed too good to be true, and for a while he had been skeptical. When the information from the first interrogation had panned out, he had become fearful that they would soon lose him. When Severus Snape showed up for his fifth meeting in October alive, when they had watched Empire Strikes Back together before discussing the whereabouts of several known Death Eaters - a discussion that would eventually lead to the trap where Alastor Moody caught Evan Rosier- Albus finally decided to let himself believe that this time it might actually work. And that a sequel could be better than the original. When they met for the sixteenth time at the British Museum for tea on January 9th he had remembered to bring the man a present for his birthday (green woolen socks), and Snape had given him a complete inventory of all poisons in Voldemort’s possession. The first led Moody to doubt his judgment and impartiality in this case, but the latter had meant that when the Minister was poisoned on Valentine’s Day with an extremely rare poison the Order already had the antidote prepared. 

After the twenty-second meeting (a seedy karaoke bar in Manchester in March), Albus was forced to admit to himself that these meetings had moved beyond the merely practical exchange of information (the day and time of Voldemort’s secret envoy’s meeting with the merfolk) and had become enjoyable outings in their own right. He actually enjoyed the young man’s company and all the sarcasm and cynicism that went with it. He enjoyed being surprised when Severus would do something unexpected and unguarded. Like delivering an in tune rendition of the Beetle’s “Let It Be” after a beer... or maybe two… pitchers. Or when he proved to be a skilled roller skater.

Today he was meeting his best at the roller disco, and had unexpectedly discovered that the lanky awkward man could out skate him. With his eyes closed. In figure eights. Backwards. At over one hundred, this didn’t worry him but it did confuse him. But that wasn’t the reason they were there, as Albus attempted to remember the reason they were there. And he was ashamed to admit that the reason they were there was that he wanted to go to a roller disco and had no one who wanted to accompany him. Well, the pretext that they were there for was to receive an update on recent Death Eater activities and to get Severus’s opinion on the applicants for teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts next year. In the last ten years he might have hired four Death Eaters for the post, but he had only known about one of them beforehand. He did not want to be caught off guard again. Of the five applicants he knew that two were, Severus himself and a seventy year witch from the Flint clan, but he also knew that Voldemort wanted eyes at Hogwarts and would order multiple followers to apply in the hopes of getting someone well positioned for the following year. Avoiding this trap and talking Horace Slughorn out of his fifth frustrated declaration of retirement (it was becoming an annual ritual) were the two staffing actions he needed to take before term started in two months.

Severus left the rink after ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me”, taking off his skates (Albus thought for a second that he caught a glimpse of green woolen socks) before joining him at the bar. After ordering a lager and some of the cardboard pizza, it was time to discuss business.

“My dear boy, where did you learn to skate like that?” Albus queried.

Snape just looked at him for a second with his unreadable eyes, then replied, “The Dark Lord has entrusted Lucius Malfoy with some form of priceless artifact to be kept hidden and safe. I was unable to get a good look at it, but it appears to be roughly the size and shape of a small book.”

Dumbledore sighed, knowing that this artifact was probably more important than the question of roller skating spies, but disappointed nonetheless by the change of subject. “I shall research possible artifacts. Do you think it might be found in a ministry search of Malfoy Manor?”

Snape replied with a slight shake of his head. After a couple minutes of silent drinking and eating, he said, “I have no other new news for you; the Dark Lord has had no need of my services in the four days since our last meeting.”

Dumbledore nodded, remembering the delightful fish and chips restaurant where they had discussed the latest threat to the Potters. “We have moved the Potters to a secure location, and are making preparations to hide them with the Fidelus Charm.”

Snape set down the pizza he had been nibbling at, and let out a slight sigh. “Who will be the secret keeper?” 

“We are still discussing it. Thanks to your information we know that someone near the Potters has been leaking information to Voldemort, so we are seeking someone who we know will protect them,” Dumbledore said.

“Until I can identify the spy, it is best that you treat all of Potter’s friends as suspect,” Snape replied. “Black is a reckless fool, Pettigrew is a coward and the Dark Lord has been aggressively recruiting werewolves. I’m sure they would be safest with you as the secret keeper.”

Dumbledore nodded, “I will consider that.” After a short silence, he produced a file from inside his robes. “I was wondering, Severus, if you could tell me what you know about certain people.” After a curt nod in reply he started, “Silicia Flint?”

“Death Eater, though Merlin knows why Voldemort would want her, she is half troll and I would consider her the dumbest creature I have ever had the displeasure of meeting if I hadn’t had the acquaintance of Crabbe and Goyle. Under orders to apply for your Defense Against the Dark Arts position.”

“Colin Martin?”

“Australian, no known involvement with Voldemort. Supplies Jigger and Bones with Ashwinder eggs.”

“Ashwinder eggs are Class A non-tradable,” Dumbledore sighed. “Belladonna Mayhew?”

“Death Eater, quick with a wand but predictable over reliance on stunners and Cruciatus. Also under orders to apply for your Defense Against the Dark Arts position.”

“I’ll have to have the Order look into her, as a background check for the job of course,” Dumbledore sighed. He didn’t ask for all the names that Snape knew, only the most dangerous and immediate in order to help maintain cover, because each new piece of information could be the one that was traced back to its source, but Belladonna had to be the twenty-fifth new name that had been supplied over their acquaintance. Yet the one name that the younger man truly wanted, he had been unable to find. “Daemon Lucifer?”

“Vampire, and not house trained either. Met with the Dark Lord on some business two years ago, and I would not be surprised if they kept up their acquaintance. Has he also applied for the Defense job?” When Dumbledore nodded, he continued, “If these questions are about who you will hire, I would have to say that they are all less qualified than I am and would hope that you would hire me before them.”

“I was not under the impression that it was your desire to enter the teaching profession that led you to apply, Severus,” Dumbledore said.

“I do not believe that it was either Silicia or Belladonna’s desire either,” Severus replied, “And Lucifer is not safe to be around children.”

“Ah, but I do believe that the children would have much to gain from an international exchange of knowledge,” Dumbledore said. “Yes, I do believe that I shall owl Mr. Martin in the morning.”

“I do believe that the Committee on Apothecary Regulation will get an anonymous tip in the morning about Jigger and Bones.”

“Good, Ashwinder Eggs shouldn’t be available to the public, they could be used to make some truly awful potions,” Dumbledore said. “If I recall correctly, the poison that the Minister of Magic so unfortunately ingested contained some. I’m sure when they investigate we can learn just who has been purchasing such ingredients.” 

Snape’s shoulders slumped and the intensity drained from his eyes at that. Of course, he had always known that the younger man had made the potion, quite a clever piece of work actually when you ignored its deadly nature, but this just provided further confirmation.

“Come now,” Dumbledore started jovially, “If I were to decide to appoint you, you are aware that the position is cursed. Something will always come up and the teacher will only last one year in the position. If they are lucky they will escape alive, but we haven’t had such luck. I do wonder, though, why he keeps sending his Death Eaters to take up a post that he himself cursed. Surely it would be much easier to only infiltrate Hogwarts once.”

“As opposed to six times in the last ten years,” Snape replied.

“Yes as opposed to six times…,” Dumbledore said, before catching what he was saying. “…no, it’s been only four, I distinctly remember – Winslow, Fae, Nabokov, and Yaxley.”

“Brimsley and Bloodaxe,” Snape replied with certainty.

“Professor Brimsley was run out of the school for inappropriate relations with a Ravenclaw prefect, not anything to do with the war. And Professor Bloodaxe was, well a goblin, goblins don’t follow him.”

“Goblins don’t teach at Hogwarts either. Professor Bloodaxe was a very, shall we say, unique, individual,” Snape drawled. “Which prefect?”

“One of Augustus Rookwood’s nieces, it would have been your third year. It took quite a while to convince the ministry that we were taking student teacher relations seriously after that,” Dumbledore said. “Really, six?”

“That I know of.” 

Dumbledore shook his head at that. The music switched to the Bee Gees, inducing a cringe in the young man.

“Headmaster,” Snape started.

“You do know you can call me Albus.”

“Headmaster, if you were to hire me it would be much easier and less dangerous to arrange a meeting.”

“Ah, but then I would miss the food,” he said looking down at his pizza that might as well be cardboard, with tomato sauce that might as well be glue and cheese that might as well be rubber, “And the atmosphere.” ‘Staying Alive’ blared from the speakers as the disco lights sparkled across the rink occupied by happy skating young people.

“Exactly.”

Dumbledore sighed. Some people just didn’t appreciate the lengths he went to get them to enjoy themselves. “That does not change the fact that it would only be for a year.”

“I was not anticipating surviving for another year, honestly.”

At this Dumbledore frowned. Snape had outlasted all of his previous spies by about nine months, and this might have led to a certain complacency on his part. The fear that the next time he would fail to walk through the door had subsided for him, but apparently Severus still felt it acutely. While the operas and horse races and football matches did provide their own security, it would certainly be less suspicious for a meeting to occur between the Headmaster and his staff. But there was still the curse to consider.

“My dear boy, I have more faith in your abilities than that. The cursed position will go to Mr. Martin, and that is the end of it,” Dumbledore said. “However, Horace Slughorn has just retired as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin.”

“For the fifth time, no one takes Sluggy seriously,” Snape said.

“It might be time to start,” Dumbledore said. “Now, if Voldemort thought he had you installed as Head of Slytherin what would he expect for you to do at my school…”


	4. Voldemort Wants You to Eat Your Vegetables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva McGonagall doubts the Headmaster's judgement and sanity when he informs her of his appointment of Severus Snape to the position of Potion's Master and Head of Slytherin. Or she would if she thought he had any when it came to running her school.

Sometimes Minerva McGonagall couldn’t help but find her job to consist entirely of a series of problems, the biggest of which was the Albus Dumbledore Is Completely Off His Rocker Problem. Half, Minerva supposed, of her gray hairs had come from being the second in command to the Wizarding World’s greatest lunatic. The rest came from various sources (teaching, Gryffindor, co-workers, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Gryffindor and Voldemort among them) and she was beginning to wonder how long it would take her to go completely gray.

Minerva suspected that she might soon have another occasion to bemoan the headmaster’s eccentricity. No, he did not normally become heavily involved in school affairs this soon after term, nor did he ask her to do many assignments with the Order (“keeping the school running and providing an atmosphere of normalcy for our students is the most important thing you can do for the war,” he had told her, i.e. she needed to do his job), but Horace Slughorn popping into her office gleeful about finally being able to retire from his post and setting up on some tropical island out of apparition range with plenty of pineapples, put her on guard for Dumbledore’s summons. Either Horace had misinterpreted some attempt to make him stay as permission to leave, in which case the task of getting him back would be time-consuming. Or, Dumbledore was actually letting him leave, in which case Minerva was going to have a whole new set of problems.

Of course, Horace Slughorn had his own set of problems. There was the Blatant Favoritism Towards Chosen Students Problem, the Extreme Apathy and Disregard for all Students Remotely Interested in the Dark Lord Problem and the two together created the Horace Slughorn has Absolutely No Control Over Three Quarters of the House He Heads Problem. And then there was the fact that all too often his classes were ended by a Cauldron Goes Boom and Releases Potentially Toxic Fumes Problem. These problems, however, were all familiar. 

The new problems would start because Slytherin would need a new Head of House. Because of the Heads of Houses Should Teach Core Classes Problem combined with the Binns is a Bloody Ghost Problem, the We Cannot Keep a Defense Teacher for More Than a Year Problem, the Astronomy Works on a Completely Different Schedule than the Rest of the School Problem and the decidedly non-problem that she, Filius and Pomona held the other three core spots and none of them were retiring anytime soon the new Potions Teacher would also have to be Head of House. This eliminated three quarters of the hiring pool and left them with a bunch of candidates all with the same problem, the Death Eaters Want to Infiltrate Hogwarts Problem. Granted, there were plenty of Slytherins who had not turned to Him, but what they needed was someone from a house notorious for its ambition, cunning and self-preservation who was willing to a) teach school and b) accept a teacher’s salary all while c) in the country at ground zero of the biggest wizarding war in forty years. Everyone figured that if they let Horace retire the applicants would look like a who’s who of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s trusted followers (those who he wasn’t willing to discard as one-year defense wonders- it had been what 3? times in the last ten years). This was the fifth year in a row Horace had tried to retire, and while Filius had flippantly suggested that they might as well hire a Death Eater if he could keep the Slytherins under control and tell them that Voldemort wanted them to eat their vegetables, no one was going to let him go. Except apparently Dumbledore.

She glanced down at her desk, and looked at the paperwork there. She had been meaning to get the offers of admittance out early this year so there wasn’t only a week between the sending out and the July 31st deadline for acceptance like the Headmaster apparently preferred, but had been stalled on the C’s for the last few hours. She stretched and yawned, resigning herself to not getting ahead of the typical Convincing Parents to Send Their Children Away in the Middle of a War and Rushing to Visit All Muggleborns and Demonstrating that Magic is Real Problems tonight. She would go and see if the Headmaster was in to inform her of what was happening with Horace and then she’d get a nice cup of cocoa and curl into bed.

As she approached the Headmaster’s office she could have sworn she saw the swishing of a black cloak turning the corner into the hallway leading to the entrance hall but decided she must have imagined it. None of the other teachers were in and it was far too early for students. “Liquorice Wands,” she whispered and the gargoyle sprang aside. She went up the staircase and cracked open the door, wanting to check whether the office was occupied.

“Minerva,” a cheerful voice called to her. “I was just about to summon you, come in, and sit down.”

She opened the door and walked to the chair across the desk from him. This was the chair so many of her headaches started in. She waited for him to continue.

“Minerva, I have a duty I wish for you to perform for the Order,” Albus said. Minerva was slightly shocked. Since Aphides* had died, Christmas holidays of ’76, that would be four and a half years ago now, she and Hagrid had been the only members on staff who were part of the Order of the Phoenix and neither of them had many duties. Sure, Filius would readily consult with any former student on the theory and practice of charms, particularly as relates to dueling, and Pomona would grow anything the Headmaster requested in the greenhouses, no questions asked, but they both were firm on not being directly involved. Horace avoided anything having to do with the war like a first years bubbling over cauldron.

He must have noticed her shock because he said, “Don’t worry Minerva; what I’m asking for is neither dangerous nor time consuming.”  
“I wasn’t worried about that,” Minerva said, though truthfully she had. More so about the time consuming than the danger. A professor of the core curriculum at Hogwarts had 12 or 22 sections (one for each House for the first five years and sixth and seventh year Newts, or 2 dual house double length sections for the first five years plus sixth and seventh years) plus she had her Deputy Head duties on top of it. Still, despite her Not Enough Hours in the Day Problem she knew that she would do what he asked of her to help the war effort.

“Very good, Minerva,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling. She knew he must be up to something. “What I am about to say to you must not leave this room. None of the other Professors or any of the students here are to know anything about this.”

“Understood,” she said curtly. Of course she kept all Order business secret.

“Minerva, do you remember Severus Snape?” he asked.

She nodded. Minerva remembered all the students that she had taught, and even if she hadn’t he had been a significant sub-problem to the Class of 1978 is Going to Send Me to an Early Grave problem. He had been smart enough, she supposed, in every subject but hers, but what had really gotten her attention was The Never-Ending Cycle of Violence between Gryffindor and Slytherin Problem as it manifested in a four (usually) on one (frequently) fight. She was actually kind of scared that the boy could hold his own some times, and there were rumors that he had written some of his nasty curses himself. More recently he had applied for last year’s DADA position and had been rejected. Minerva understood that there had been An Incident involved with his interview, but she had never asked for details. He was also on the Order’s watch list as a known associate of Death Eaters and a suspected Death Eater himself. All of his tails, however, reported nothing more than the reclusive life of an apprentice potioner – Minerva glared at Albus. 

Dumbledore grinned, “I can see that you do.” Minerva chuckled at that despite herself and Dumbledore continued, “Young Severus has been helping me for the past year, passing on very useful information regarding certain parties, information that has led to the apprehension of several associates of Voldemort.” Minerva nodded, unsure what this had to do with her. It was unexpected information, yes, but even more unexpected was that Dumbledore was sharing this with her instead of one of the other Order Members associated with reconnaissance (Alastor Moody or Remus Lupin for instance). As if sensing her thoughts, he said, “Until now Moody has been his secondary contact in the Order, in case I am uncontrollably detained, but that arrangement has proven less than satisfactory.”

“I bet,” Minerva replied. Alastor Moody tended to be deeply suspicious of everyone and doubly so with anyone with Death Eater friends, relatives or barbers. He was excellent at examining a room and picking out clues, but he was probably not the type of person who could easily get on with fragile allies. Severus Snape had been a student who was easily offended by even the slightest remark or suspicion. Putting those two together in the same room was likely to result in sparks, and not of the romantic kind. 

“Then you would understand that it would be a good idea to appoint a new secondary contact. Minerva, I was thinking that you would be the most appropriate choice,” Dumbledore said. 

Minerva snorted. “Albus, if you are unavailable it is probably to do with the school.” That was slightly optimistic, but it wasn’t time to bring up the The Headmaster Devotes All His Time to the War Problem. “If you are unavailable, I’ll probably be stuck at Hogwarts as well.”

“I suspect that any meeting you will have with him will occur at Hogwarts,” Albus replied.

“And why, Albus, would Hogwarts be the preferred place for a meeting with a Death Eater spy?” Minerva replied, though she already suspected. “Have you appointed him to defense?” she added, aiming for the slightly less insane notion.

“Of course not,” Dumbledore replied with his infuriatingly implacable grin. “It would not do to lose a valuable spy to the defense curse. Severus will be taking over for Horace, who if I am correct is right now packing for a long overdue retirement to Fiji.”

“Albus, as tempting as this notion might seem, I must protest that this is not in the best interest of our students,” she replied.

“Oh, I’m sure Horace will keep up his correspondence from his bungalow. Besides, I fully expect that he will be back in a year, Horace was never one to separate himself from society, indeed he has always been happiest in the midst of wheeling and dealing with his prominent connections,” he said. Minerva thought he had rather intentionally missed the point.

“I mean for there to be a Death Eater on staff,” Minerva said. “You-Know-Who will have him recruiting students and expect him to be spying on us for him. Goddess forbid there is ever an attack on Hogwarts.”

“Voldemort has managed to place a Death Eater on staff for six of the last ten years,” Dumbledore said. “The only difference will be that we will know about it and he is on our side.”

“And are you sure of that?” Minerva said. Her mind was slowly processing this when a realization struck her, “Wait, six?!? I can recall only three, Nabokov, Yaxley and Fae.”

“Winslow would have been your first year of teaching, Phyla and I handled that one with greatest secrecy because we were still unsure of the Dark Lord’s purpose,” Dumbledore said. “I’ve only just heard of Brimsley and Bloodaxe myself.”

“Professor Bloodaxe? The Goblin who would only speak in Mermish on Mondays?” Minerva asked.

“It seems that even in retirement Professor Bloodaxe will continue to astound us,” Dumbledore said. “If Voldemort believes he has already infiltrated the school the chances for further such surprises will be less. Though our pool of qualified defense teachers may dry up if he quits trying to get a supporter in that position,” he added thoughtfully.

“And do you at least have a non-Death Eater in mind for defense then?” Minerva said.

“Oh, indeed,” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Colin Martin is merely involved in the illicit sale of class A contraband, nothing to do with the war.”

“That’s nice to know,” she said dryly.

“Indeed,” he said. “Though in the future, without attempts to infiltrate we may have a shortage of applicants.” She stared at him for a moment while he was lost in thought until he continued, “I shall tell Mr. Snape and Mr. Martin to contact you for new teacher training next Monday. And we shall have to establish a code word for Severus to indicate he needs to talk to you about extra-curricular concerns.”

As if any other type of concern interested the Headmaster. “Vegetables,” she said. “If he needs to speak to me about You-Know-Who he should say vegetables.” And she exited the door, climbed down the stairs and went back to her office where she made herself a hot cocoa with a double shot of whiskey and began lamenting the upcoming year and her new Vegetables Problem. 

 

_*Professor Phyla Aphides had been the Herbology Professor, Head of Hufflepuff and Assistant Headmistress to Albus Dumbledore when he became Headmaster and Minerva replaced him in Transfiguration and Gryffindor, as well as a key member of the Order. Over Christmas break of 1976 she had been out working for the Order of the Phoenix, foiling a plot on the life of Barty Crouch Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement involving both Dancing Daffodils and Tapping Tulips (don’t ask). Unfortunately things got out of hand and she was pressed by perennials (really, don’t ask). The position of Deputy went to Minerva despite the objection of the Board of Governor’s to both the Head and Deputy being from the same house by virtue of Hufflepuff being vacant and Horace and Filius yelling ‘not it’ faster than her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't in the proposed order (ff.net favorites) but was posted here because I think it works best as a follow up to the previous chapter. Next story will follow the order.


	5. To Regulus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you doubt the Dark Lord you are alone, even with those who share those doubts

“To Regulus,” Lucius toasted, raising his glass. “To Regulus,” we responded, clinking our glasses of fine French Champagne, wizard made of course. Or at least that’s what it says on the label, though Narcissa had never heard of the vineyard herself. Only the best to celebrate the newest member of the Dark Lord’s forces.  


She looks across the table, seeking someone else who feels her unease, her nervousness. Regulus is her baby cousin, the cute little kid who would beg his mother to keep the kitten he found while covered in mud, he cannot possibly be old enough to fight in this war. He had only just graduated, but no one else seemed to find him too young for the mark. Bellatrix was smiling so brightly she was glowing, obviously proud, Lucius and Rodulphus were less exuberant but she could see their pride through their studied pure-blood indifference. Her other cousin, Evan Rosier, was joking with the Crabbes and Goyles in the corner about the idiocy of the Ministry and various blood traitors, causing gales of laughter. Severus Snape, the little gutter rat her husband had taken on as a project because he was supposedly remarkably skilled and useful, was as always unreadable. The newest recruit himself was excitedly recounting his initiation with Rodulphus’s younger brother Rabastan, overflowing with youthful idealism and eagerness for battle.  


She couldn’t stop her mind from circling through fear and doubt. She had already lost Andromeda and Sirius to the other side and now she feared losing her husband, her sister and now her baby cousin as well. Of course ridding the world of mudblood and muggle filth was important, but she wondered if it couldn’t be someone else out doing it, someone who she didn’t stay up at all hours waiting to hear that they were ok. Was it really worth sending out the best pureblood youth at the tender age of eighteen to do His bidding?  


“Lucius said he’ll bring me on his next raid,” Regulus boasted with only a faint trace of nervousness. “I’ll take out the most muggles and hopefully get to take on an Auror. I’m sure it will be only a matter of time until I’m elevated to the inner circle.”  


Out of the corner of her eye she can see Snape roll his eyes. She raises her eyebrow to him then takes a deep breath and fastens her widest smile to her face.  


~

“Do you ever think that maybe we’ve gone too far?” Reggie asks her. He’s hunched in on herself, nervously glancing at the doors. She wonders what has happened, what has shaken him so badly.  


“No,” she lies. Once you’re in you’re in for life, so it doesn’t do to vocalize such thoughts. They already in constant danger from the Ministry, even the slightest indication of doubt will bring the Dark Lord onto them and she can’t afford that anymore. She glances towards the nursery door behind which baby Draco is sleeping, knowing she must continue on for his sake. She stirs her sugar into her tea than passes it to him. He refuses and stares at his cup, as if it might have his answers hidden in there.  


“But if you did, what would you do?” He asked his voice cracking.  


“Forget and never tell anyone,” she says, hoping he’ll take the hint. He’s only been in for a year, while she’s been watching Lucius and Bella serve for at least five years and she’s never seen either of them express these doubts. She suspects Lucius may occasionally have them, but he’s never shared them with hers as she has never shared herself. Bella’s faith in the cause was deep and unshakeable, almost to a disturbing extreme. “Especially not Bella,” she added.  


“What if you can’t ignore it?” he asked. His desperation was becoming apparent and it was obvious he needed someone to calm his doubts. She didn’t know how, she always calmed her own by pushing them out of mind and thought if she started acknowledging them she’d never start.  


“You just do,” she says, her tone indicating that this line of conversation is over. “Evan is planning a fabulous party for the equinox. The roses will be in bloom at Rosier manor and there will be lemon cakes, I know you’ve always loved lemon cakes.”  


He doesn’t respond to her obvious attempt to change the subject, instead standing grabbing his coat and leaving. “Goodbye, Cissa,” he says as he walks out the door and for some reason it feels final to her. After the door closes, she goes to the nursery and hugs Draco, not caring that her eyes are starting to water.  


~

She shouldn’t have here, but she needed to know. Regulus had not been seen for a month; indeed she was the last person who would admit to seeing him. However, if he had done something stupid and Voldemort had made an example of him she doubted that even Lucius would tell her. She still hoped, however, because no one has told her something that would end that hope. Still, a month was too long and the worrying was keeping her up at night. So she found herself on a bench in a filthy muggle park staring at the filthy muggles walking their filthy dogs waiting for someone who she definitely shouldn’t be seen with.  


“Sirius,” she says as he walked up to her, looking positively wild in a leather jacket with matching leather pants and unkempt hair. She sees his raggedy friend from school watching them from a distance, and immediately gets angry. “I said to come alone.”  


He glanced quickly at the other man, and then replied, “Yeah, well that’s what your lot always say when setting up a trap.”  


“It’s not a trap,” she replies. They stared at each other, each daring the other to be the first to be the one to turn away or break the silence. She blinked and took a deep breath, asking the question that she needed to ask. “Have any of your people seen Regulus?”  


He blinked for a moment than resumed glaring at her. “No, not unless he’s on the other side of a mask. I haven’t seen him for three years, not since I left Hogwarts.”  


Her shoulders sagged. Only now did she realize that she had been pinning her hopes on the idea that he had defected. That would make him a traitor, but at the very least it would mean that he was still alive. “Could you ask?”  


He shrugged, “Sure, though if we knew it probably wouldn’t be good for him. One of Moldy-Voldy’s Death Munchers is more likely to know.”  


“No one has seen him for a month; at least that I’ve heard. Before, before he went missing he was acting strange, like he was going to leave. I thought he might have defected, and…”  


Sirius raised his eyebrows, and she could tell that this had surprised him, that he wasn’t lying to protect Regulus. He shook his head, “No, I’m sorry.”  


“If he was with you, at least I’d know he was alive, if you hear anything, could you perhaps let me know?” she asked, doubting it would mean anything.  


“Perhaps,” he said before walking away towards his friend. She saw him start talking animatedly to his companion, asking questions before they walked towards a parked motorcycle and speeding off. She sat in the park for another half hour in silence before apparating home before anyone even noticed she was gone.  


~  


It was a rainy March day when they buried Evan Rosier. That was the day that she admitted she had lost all of her male cousins to Voldemort, two dead and one estranged. In the back of her mind she had thought that Regulus would walk through the doors of Malfoy Manor one day, say he had just been off on a secret mission, it was all a bad dream, he was back now, but losing Evan made her admit that this war was dangerous. She wondered if anyone else was mourning.  


By appearances very few were mourning Evan. Most of his colleagues had avoided attending the funeral, for fear of raising suspicions due to being associated with a known Death Eater, so the only one of his peers standing in the rain was Severus Snape. She wasn’t sure why he’d risk this, but she appreciated knowing that at least one of his colleagues was there, that someone thought remembering Evan was worth the risk. Besides the two of them only the minister, his mother and sister, a sixth year Slytherin, were in attendance and she wasn’t sure it was her place to intrude on their grief.  


Before they lowered the coffin into the earth she whispered to him, “Say hello to Regulus for me.” She saw Snape turn to her for a second, his look seeming to ask a question that she could not decipher before he turned away and returned to his usual inscrutable self.  


The war was over and she was the last Black cousin standing. Well, the last Black cousin except Andie, but it would be improper to contact that blood traitor. Regulus was dead, and Sirius and Bellatrix were in Azkaban. Strangely Sirius was the one that hurt the most right now. She had had more than a year to accept the loss of Reggie and Bella’s fanaticism had long since transformed her into a creature that she couldn’t relate to, but Sirius, if Sirius was serving the Dark Lord was it too much to ask that he would act as her cousin again. She missed the time that they might have had together, joined in a common cause, but apparently his estrangement ran deeper than the war and was not overcome when they were allies.

~

Little Draco tugged on her arm, and she broke out of her thoughts. He stared at her with the gray eyes characteristic of her side of the family, and she was glad that he would grow up in peace, that she would never lose him like she lost her family.  


“To Draco,” Rudolphus toasted, raising his glass. “To Draco,” the small party responded. Narcissa felt a nightmarish sense of de ja vu. She sipped her fine French Champagne (which she knew now was definitely muggle made but she didn’t care anymore), and surveyed the much reduced company. Evan and Regulus were dead; Lucius was in prison as were the elder Crabbe and Goyle. Severus Snape, had declined the invitation citing Hogwarts’s business. Only her sister, brother-in-law and his brother were joining them. Draco didn’t seem to mind.

“Once I’ve finished the Dark Lord’s business at Hogwarts, I’m sure to take father’s place in the inner circle, I know it,” Draco bragged. He was only sixteen. Narcissa knew that she had to help this time; she would protect him before he ever had doubts as she should have sixteen years prior. She fixed on her smile and celebrated her son’s lost innocence.


	6. The 1982 English World Cup Squad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scouting the 1978 Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match

England, Scott Wood thought, would be the best Quidditch team in the world if only all of its best players would actually play for their national team.  Given that this was far from the actual situation he found himself, as the assistant coach to the national team, scouting for the 1982 World Cup months before 1978 had ever been played due to their epic incompetence in qualifying.  Today was Hogwarts’s last game of the year, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, with two of the top prospects playing for opposing teams.

James Potter was a chasing phenomenon, and in Scott’s opinion a cut above the semi-pro near squibs that made up England’s league currently.  With his strike partners, fourth year Sheila Moran (who was unfortunately Irish) and sixth year Ethan Hawkins (passable but unspectacular), the Gryffindor had twice in the past two years managed to make the Snitch irrelevant.  Granted they were both against a Ravenclaw team that had become a sieve after the graduation of their excellent (Scottish) keeper Marlene McKinnon, but games where Quaffle play determined the winner were few and far between.  Five minutes in and they were already up 30 points up.  Given enough time they would probably reach an insurmountable lead, but-

In a blur of flapping green robes the Slytherin Seeker, Regulus Black, had apparently sighted the Snitch and was rapidly ascending to –yes he could see it now- a glint twenty yards above.  In his eight games since joining in his third year the fifth year player had managed to catch the Snitch each and every time.   In only one of them had the game run over an hour, and for the past two years he was considered to have single-handedly prevented what had seemed like an inevitable Gryffindor dynasty.  He was head and shoulders above any other England prospect at this time, and indeed he could only think of four seekers worldwide who were better, and they were all playing for the strongest teams at this year’s World Cup.  If he could get Regulus for England the next cycle would be- SWOOSH.

A bludger screamed at the Slytherin Seeker, forcing him to swerve and lose sight of the Snitch.  The Gryffindor beater and the Slytherin Seeker glared at each other with identical grey eyes.  Moran scored off a pass from Potter, putting the score at 40-0, the Gryffindor chasers wasting no time using the time bought for them by their teammate in this race for the school championship.  Sirius Black was an interesting player to Scott.  At his best he was Scott’s leading candidate to partner with Ludo Bagman, England’s only world class player as far as he was concerned, in 1982 at what was sure to be the Wasp’s man’s final cup.  Potter, 50-0- damn that boy was good.  And at his worst Sirius- (Penalty Slytherin- no hitting the Bludgers at the opposing teams keepers while the Quaffle is in the other half), well at his worst Sirius was a disciplinary nightmare.  Sometimes Scott wondered if the boy even knew the rules he was regularly breaking.   Still, given that their depth at Beater resembled a kiddie pool it would be worth a shot.  He had four years.

Evan Rosier put the ball past the Gryffindor Keep Gwyneth Llewellyn (fifth year, Welsh, might be good if she could be trained to mind the left better), putting the score at 50-10.  Rosier was another one that would bear watching.  The boy regularly demonstrated impeccable ball handling technique and a real knack for the evasive maneuvers that Quidditch required, but due to a rather disappointing surrounding group of Chasers he had developed a tendency to head straight at the goal avoiding all combination plays (and speaking of combination play Llewellyn, Moran, Potter, Hawkins, Potter, Moran, Potter, Moran, Potter scores 60-10 – man that boy could be as good as the legendary Spanish chaser Golazo if he could get him and damn Moran for being Irish).  Still, he had been the reason Slytherin had outscored Ravenclaw with the Quaffle and given Hufflepuff a close run (their new third year keeper, Ivy Wall, a muggleborn from Cornwall, was one to watch though, he reminded himself) Give Rosier a couple of years with a decent team and a hard-ass coach and the boy could be a solid international level chaser.  Hawkins- 70-10.

Foul- unauthorized use of a Beater’s bat by Black to hit opposing player Black- Scott shook his head as the Gryffindor fans started heckling the ref and the Slytherin fans wanted blood as their seeker was seen to.  Penalty, Llewellyn saves.  Out of the corner of his eye he sees the professors pushing through the stands to a point where a fist fight had apparently broken out.  Moran 80-10.  Of course, most people would find a roster for ’82 including the two Blacks, Potter and Rosier absurd, but that didn’t stop him.  In the midst of a civil war expecting some of the brightest wizards of the generation to devote themselves to what many considered a frivolous diversion, many said, was both a waste and a delusion.  Additionally putting players likely to be on opposing sides on the same team was a delusional display of optimism.  If it was, then call him delusionally optimistic.  Potter 90-10.

Quidditch was the one thing that most unified wizarding Britain.  He hadn’t been the only one to notice that there had been no hostile actions on the days of national team games for England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland or peculiarly Russia.  Millicent Bagnold had been rumored to express extreme disappointment that she wouldn’t be getting her summer truce because only two of those teams had qualified (Ireland and Russia).  Moran 100-10.  (Regulus Black fought off the Hogwarts matron who had been treating him off field and hopped onto his broom, nostrils still bleeding- the boy had fight, England needed that.)  Besides, this war had already run eight years and he would bet against it running another four.  Potter 110-10.  (Spectacular long distance shot curling right under the top of the right hoop).  He dearly wished to take his nephew Oliver to see the English team in the final in Tokyo in 1982, watching the spectacular team who symbolized the reunited nation claim the cup.  Potter 120-10.  (Straight through the arms of Slytherin Keeper Parkinson- goodness, that was an embarrassment, he might be better off recruiting a keeper from the Knutsworth School for Squibs than be forced to pick Parkinson).  He’d be less likely to lose players, at least to the Aurors and Death Eaters, in peacetime he was sure.

Moran 130-10.  In the right side of the Slytherin end the Slytherin beaters Peasegood and Sloper (solid but unspectacular) had gotten into a bat fight with Sirius Black.  Two penalties to Gryffindor and one to Slytherin, taken after the three had been sprayed with Magic Spray Healing Balm, all made 150-20.  Regulus’s normally calm surveyal of the pitch was starting to get frantic, his team would need him to grab the Snitch soon.  Potter 160-20.  Very soon.  A remarkable save by Parkinson on Moran, the only one he made all game, got the crowd on their feet.  Gryffindors and Slytherins were screaming their lungs out, loud enough to cause several students to cover their ears.  Hawkins 170-20.  If Black caught the snitch now they might go to penalties.  Obviously the entire crowd had realized this, because the already impossibly loud stadium erupted.  Some Ravenclaws had evidently decided now was the time to finish their homework and were headed to the castle at a brisk walk.  Rosier 170-30.  Make that a brisk run.  A Hufflepuff prefect appeared to be trying to form his housemates into a human wall to separate the red and green crowds.  Scott’s eyes were glued to the pitch.

Potter had the Quaffle by the Gryffindor hoops.  Regulus Black’s eyes narrowed and he went into a dive, trailed by the Gryffindor Seeker Lynch (Irish, solid enough but unspectacular).  Potter streaked across the field.  Regulus stretched out his arm.  Potter, hard shot through the middle hoop, 180-30.  Black’s hand closed on the snitch 180-180.  Scott let out his breath, and rubbed his hands in anticipation.  Hopefully his prospects could handle a penalty shoot-out, a rare occurrence that had nevertheless led to England’s elimination in two previous world cups.  The Hufflepuff wall had now interlocked arms and the teachers were liberally issuing detention to anyone who tried to break it.

Rosier shot left, Llewellyn dived right.  1-0. Moran lower right.  1-1. Crabbe, a rather ineffective Slytherin chaser, put it through the middle with the best shot Scott had ever seen him take.  2-1. Hawkins to the left, evading Parkinson.  2-2. Mercutio Montague, the third Slytherin chaser as well as the fourth son of a former Slytherin captain who was rumored to be on the team because of his father’s influence, took a hard shot to the left that Llewellyn barely missed at a full stretch.  3-2. Lynch flew up to the spot and Wood grinned.  Penalties were best of five, so if Potter wasn’t going now he was obviously going last, where the pressure of the entire school championship might be on his shoulders.  Lynch placed it just under the rim of the center hoop over Parkinson’s head.  3-3. Sloper was up for Slytherin and went right while Llewellyn guessed left. 4-3. Sirius Black was up next for Gryffindor and shot right, the Quaffle sailing past Parkinson.  Tied up at 4-4.  Regulus Black came up and faked right before sending a soft lob to the left that Llewellyn stopped.  Wood groaned, typical English penalty taking.  Then again, on a world cup team it was unlikely that the seeker would be relied on for a clutch penalty. 

The crowd quickly switched to insulting the parentage of Potter and Parkinson.  Scott thought he heard a chubby boy from Gryffindor suggest something obscene about Parkinson’s mum and a flobberworm.  Potter grabbed the quaffle, and flew to the spot.  Taking a deep breath he released a beautiful shot to the left that bounced through the hoop off the inside of the bar.  It was a perfect shot, Gryffindor won.  Scott’s mind was racing with visions of the World Cup.  No one saw who threw the first curse in the fight that would send 30 Slytherins, 25 Gryffindors, 10 Hufflepuffs, 2 Ravenclaws and 3 teachers to the infirmary, land most of the players in detention for the rest of the month and incinerate the Quidditch stands.  Scott barely noticed the battle going on around him.

~

As fate would have it neither Potter nor Rosier, neither Sirius nor Regulus would represent England in 1982.  Ethan Hawkins would, along with Ludo Bagman, a newly graduated Ivy Wall, three Ravenclaw alums and the star chaser from the east tower team at the Rookery, Britain’s second best school of magic.  Scott Wood took his nephew to see the team in Japan anyway.  England was eliminated in the quarter-finals on penalties.  Gwyneth Llewellyn played for the Holyhead Harpies for seven years and captained Wales to their first world cup qualification in ’86.  Sheila Moran joined the Aurors after school but quit after Voldemort disappeared to join the Irish team in qualifying.  She played for Ireland until retiring after the ‘02 cup, winning in ‘94 and successfully defending in ’98.  She is considered one of the all-time greats along with the Spanish chaser Golazo.  Lynch also played for Ireland.  Scott Wood would not see England win the Cup until his nephew captained them to a win in Kuala Lumpor in 2006.  There was a Potter on that team.


	7. Death Eaters' Ladies Auxiliary pt 1981

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Slytherin seventh year girls talk in the carriage on the way to Hogwarts 1981

_September 1 st 1981 Hogwarts Express, Seventh Year Slytherin Girl’s Carriage:_

“Did you hear about Spinx?”  Cassiopeia Montague (or Cassie) whispered.  “Went on a raid last Monday, was supposed to be a quick in and out muggle-baiting, except when he got there he found a company of Aurors waiting for him with no backup on the way.  Barely lasted a minute until…”

“Poor Sally,” Isabelle Rosier sighed.  “I went to visit her three weeks ago, their little girl was the cutest thing, barely a year old.  She still wished she could be here with us you know.”   The four girls nodded.  Sally Spinx nee Crowley had been their fifth roommate until her parents had removed her the summer before fifth year to get married.  Apparently assuring the continuation of the Crowley bloodline amidst the death of many of the suitable young pureblood men in the war had been more important than their daughter’s education.  Thus in rapid succession she had become betrothed, dropped out, married and conceived while everyone else had been worrying over their studies.  And now she was a widow at 17 with no credentials and an infant daughter.

“What will she do now, do you know?” Beatrice Blishwick asked.

“Probably work in her father in-laws spice shop, that’s what she was doing before,” Isabelle replied.

“If it were me, I’d never have let them force me into the marriage in the first place,” Alecto Carrow declared.

“It probably wouldn’t have been as easy as all that.  If the Aurors hadn’t caught Mulciber…” Isabelle shuddered.  Darren Mulciber had been one of her brothers friends as well as her betrothed until he had been arrested a week before the wedding.  Shamefully she was grateful that the same ministry that had killed her brother had saved her from that dreaded fate and let her finish school.

“Shame about that.  Pretty soon there will be no acceptable pure-bloods left; my parents are finally starting to look for a husband for me again.  It’s been more than a year since Reggie disappeared but I don’t think they’ve completely given up on me being the next Mrs. Black.  If they don’t hurry it’ll be only invalids, babies, half-bloods and Hufflepuffs left,” Cassie said.  Beatrice flushed.  She didn’t talk about her family much, but occasionally the other girls would tease her for her muggle mother and the fact that all three of her brothers had been sorted into Hufflepuff.  The line of Blishwick was fading and she felt it would be on her shoulders to restore the name.  Alecto, however, was rolling her eyes.

“Well, I for one refuse to be traded like a cow for bloodlines,” she said.  “Bellatrix Lestrange would never stand for such treatment.”

“Bellatrix was forced to marry Rudolphus Lestrange straight out of Hogwarts, in case you forgot,” Isabelle scoffed.

“She wouldn’t look forward to being treated as the Death Eater’s Ladies Auxiliary either.  You’d never see a lady like her fussing over her table so dinner is ready when her husband comes back.  No, she fights with her man.  She fights better than her man.  I so want to be her when I leave school.  Only I won’t need a man.”

“And have you run this past your parents?”  Isabelle asked.

“No, but I’m not like you.  No money to my family, pure-blood heroes aren’t going to come knocking down my door,” Alecto said.  “Unless I make it happen there will be no betrothal.”

“Humph, I heard that your parents were desperate enough they were offering you to Snivelly,” Cassie said.

“Lies,” Carrow responded.  “My parents have better taste than to betroth me to a half-blood.”

“I heard it was the other way around, that as soon as your parents presented the offer he ran away so fast the grease in his hair couldn’t catch up,” Cassie said.

“It might not do to make fun of him so much this year,” Isabelle said.  The other girls stared at her and Cassie whispered to Beatrice “I knew she had a crush on him.”  Making fun of Severus Snape had been one of the few things that the whole school had united in when he was at Hogwarts, and those who had social ties to the Death Eaters, like most Slytherins, liked to continue it even after he had been out of school for three years.  Isabelle thought it rather rude and had liked him more than her brother’s other schoolmates.  He had also been the only one to show at her brother’s funeral, Mulciber and Avery begging off for prior commitments to avoid suspicion of collusion.  He also regularly dropped in on her mother for tea to see how they were doing, which was how she was probably the only person on the train who knew the biggest gossip for the start of term feast beforehand.  She debated leaving them in the dark, but decided to move forward.

“I was just warning you, that since Sluggy retired over the summer and Dumbledore named Snape Potions Master and Head of Slytherin it might be in your interest to be more respectful,” Isabelle finished.

“Gods, this means that I’ve seen two of my professors hanging upside-down with their underwear showing,” Beatrice said wincing, remembering the incident in Charms that had caused them to see much more of Flitwick than any of them ever wanted to.

“At least he will properly honor those of us who follow the Dark Lord in completing Salazar Slytherin’s noble goals, unlike Slughorn who shuns us,” Alecto said.

“Any chance he’ll provide the liquor like Sluggy does for our house parties?” Cassie asked hopefully.  Isabelle shook her head; Snape had always been the most sober of Evan’s friends.  “Could he put in a good word for me with Avery?”

“You do know that Avery is with Bast, don’t you?” Isabelle said.

“What Avery and Rabastan Lestrange do in private is not likely to produce pure-blood heirs for the Avery family line to leave all their money to.  Besides, it’s not like he’s running an Imperius Brothel,” Cassie retorted, making a dig at the most notorious of Muciber’s crimes.

“You’d be ok with that, though, your husband keeping a lover on the side?  And the only thing you’d be there for would be to have his children?”  Beatrice asked.

“No, she’d probably pull a Zabini,” Isabelle replied.

“There is no proof that she did anything to her husband, the poor man,” Cassie said.  “The second wedding happening only months after he was buried while the baby was in nappies is purely circumstantial.  Still, mighty selfish of her to take two pure-blood men for ourselves when some of us are having trouble finding one”

“Is that all you want to talk about, catching a man and having babies?  No higher ambitions from a Slytherin?”  Alecto said.

“Not all of us can be Bellatrix sitting at the right hand of the Dark Lord,” Cassie said.  “Besides, it was good enough for my mother and her mother before her.”

“I’d quite like to design dress robes,” Beatrice said.

“A seamstress?” Alecto said with disgust.

“No, a designer,”  Beatrice replied.  “I’d like to become the first haute couture wizarding designer.  In the muggle world clothing designers are wicked famous and I think a witch could do a much better job of it than stupid muggles.  Though the Dark Lord and his servants do have such a strong inclination towards black that all the work I’d do after we win would likely be entirely with patterning…”

“You must make my dress robes for the Malfoy’s Christmas ball,” Cassie said.  “I’m sure Isabelle also would like some.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful,” Isabelle smiled, hoping it would be more tasteful than the pinks Beatrice favored.

“Bellatrix Lestrange could care less about the Malfoy’s Christmas ball,” Alecto said.

“Bellatrix Lestrange is a batshit idealist, the rest of us live in the real world.  Being a proper pure-blood lady means there are things that you just must do,” Isabelle said.

“And if you were an improper pure-blood lady and not the last of the Rosier bloodline, what would you do then?  Wouldn’t you fight for the honor of our cause to your very last breath?”  Alecto said.

Isabelle stared at her calmly, “I don’t think it’s worth dying for, do you?”

“Of course I do” Alecto said.  “I’m going to find the boys, they probably aren’t afraid to fight for the Dark Lord.”  She stepped out of the compartment, and stormed off to find the seventh year boys.

“Do you think we should do something for Sally?  Make a card, get a gift or something?” Beatrice asked.  “I’ve started knitting maybe I could make something for the baby?”

“Excellent Idea,” Isabelle replied, and the three of them started creating a gift for their friend.

~

Their last year of school did not go at all like they expected.  For one thing, starting in November all plans that involved the Dark Lord were null and void.  Alecto was devastated.  The mass arrests of Death Eaters further depleted the pool of eligible pure-blood bachelor’s.  Cassiopeia was devastated.  The Malfoy’s did not hold their annual Christmas ball so the girls could not wear their new dress robes.  Beatrice supposed she should share Cassiopeia’s disappointment, but her friends absolutely adored their robes and had started recommending her to the younger Slytherin’s as well as anyone in another house who would still talk to a Slytherin.  Isabelle didn’t know how she should feel.  Part of her just knew that it was a disgrace that the people who took Evan’s life had won and that part made the rather larger part of her that was just relieved it was over feel guilty. 

Sally Spinx was just overwhelmed.  Little Samantha grew so fast, Samuel’s father and grandfather started retreating from the world following the war and she found herself running their spice shop.   As foreign countries opened for trade with Britain after the end of the war she found that the shop could start stalking some of the foreign magical spices that had been missing for years.  Order’s started flooding the Hogsmeade store, and sometimes she would be overwhelmed but at the end of the day somehow she got all the orders filled.  Over time it got easier and she even found the time to develop her own signature mixes, and soon there were few English house witches who did not have a bottle of Sally Spinxes’ Spice Mixes on hand.  Despite this success she didn’t feel she had made it until after the ministry let students take their OWLS and NEWTS outside of their normal year due to the Second Voldemort War.  She was not your typical student at the testing, but she might have been one of the most excited.  She passed most subjects.

Cassie Montague spent most of the year following graduation watching her nieces and nephews and trying to catch the attention of Avery (who was still grieving after Lestrange who had been imprisoned for torturing the Longbottoms).  When she finally despaired of him ever noticing her she went on a Grand Tour of Europe, seeking a husband.  Unfortunately most continental wizards shied away from English pureblood fanatics.  When she was 25 she gave up on ever finding a husband.  When she was 28 an Australian half-blood shipping magnate named Lorenzo Capulet caught her attention due to the Shakepearian irony of their names.  They live in Sydney with their three kids.

Beatrice’s reputation in robe making at Hogwarts led to her obtaining a position as apprentice to Madam Malkin’s immediately after graduation.  A year into her apprenticeship Horatio Gladrags, who was the assistant manager of the London Gladrags store, convinced her to leave Malkin’s for Gladrags carrying several of Malkin’s signature patterns with her.  The ensuing rivalry, sabotage and romance filled many editions of Witch Weekly culminating in the wedding of Beatrice and Horatio being on the front page of the Valentine’s issue in 1984.  Beatrice quickly became the top designer at Gladrags and with the help of her husband’s company established the first wizarding fashion week in Paris for fall 1989.  It is still going strong and Beatrice’s line is always the main attraction.  Beatrice and Horatio have two kids and are currently running the new Gladrags shop in Milan while trying to get a collection shown in muggle fashion week.

Alecto Carrow sought most of her life for the opportunity to be on the ground floor of the next Dark Lord.  She was going to be his Bellatrix, whoever he was.  This led her to fall in with many frauds, petty thieves and unsavory men seeking to take advantage of her.  Sometimes the only thing keeping her alive was her partnership with her brother.  They drifted from one place to another, looking for a purpose.  When the Dark Lord rose again they were the first to receive the Dark Mark.  She never managed to rise like Bellatrix had and even grew to share the distaste most had for the older woman.  Alecto and her brother were appointed Hogwarts professors under Severus Snape and both died at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Isabelle Rosier should have gone home after finishing Hogwarts.  Her mother was expecting her; she was to be married to a rich eighty year old widower with many connections to the Ministry.  Some of his grandkids were in the lower years of Slytherin.  It was a fine match, one that would restore honor to the family after Evan’s end.  She should have been on the train looking forward to her new life.  However, none of her friends questioned when the night before she was going home Professor Snape called her into his office.  A first year that Cassie sent to spy on his office said she thought she saw the fire turn green and someone go through the Floo, but they never knew where exactly she went.  Sally thought that Professor Snape once picked up an order made with her handwriting, Beatrice thought she saw her in New York once, Cassie thought she passed her in a crowd in Australia and Alecto thought she saw a letter from her on the Headmaster’s desk.  No one blamed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'll try to get things in more quickly for the next one.


	8. Death Eaters' Ladies Auxiliary pt 1997

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1997, second verse same as the first

_Sept 1, 1997 Hogwarts Express Seventh Year Slytherin Girl’s Compartment_

“So,” Tracey Davis sighed, “Last year at Hogwarts ladies.”

“Best year at Hogwarts, you mean,” Pansy replied.  “Snape’s Headmaster and all the filthy little mudbloods will be gone.  If you ask me someone should have killed Dumbledore sooner.”

There was an awkward silence.  Daphne Greengrass shot Samantha Spinx a quick look while Millicent nodded.

“I still can’t believe Snape did it,” Tracey said.  “And now he’s headmaster – I know the Dark Lord’s in charge and all but wouldn’t someone have said no if he’d actually…”

“Officially Undesirable #1 killed Dumbledore,” Daphne said.

“Scarhead always seemed kind of nice for a Gryffindork,” Millicent said.  “Shame he had to crack and kill the headmaster.”

The girls looked at her for a second.  It was always hard to tell if Millicent was a clever girl who pretended to be stupid or just plain stupid.  Samantha was the only one who had ever seen her grades and she wasn’t going to talk.

“Oh, Professor Snape killed Dumbledore alright,” Pansy replied.  “Draco was there and said he didn’t even hesitate, straight AK.”

“But officially it was Potter, try to remember that Pansy,” Daphne said.  Pansy rolled her eyes.  “Has anyone heard what happened to Professor Burbage.  Before Thicknesse took over the Prophet said she was missing.”

“Still missing, or at least no longer at Hogwarts,” Samantha volunteered.  “One of mum’s old school friends, Alecto Carrow, is going to teach Muggle Studies now.  And her brother Amycus is teaching defence.”

“Woman gets the soft subject, figures,” Millicent said.

“Muggle Studies isn’t all that soft,” Tracey said.  “The way Professor Burbage taught it, anyway you had to remember all these things about eckeltricity and bus schedules and aluminium birds.”

“Well, Carrow will definitely not be carrying on about that nonsense.  Besides, you and Daphne were the only ones to take it, why I’ll never understand.  And Daphne gave it up after OWLS,”  Pansy said.

“It’d be good for camoflauge if you ever wanted to disappear, though,” Samantha said.  “One of mums school friends ran away after the first war because her mum betrothed her to an eighty year old, and I figure Muggle Studies would be very useful just in case.”

“Smart girl,” Millicent said.

“Why didn’t you take it then?” Pansy said.

“Mum promised she’d never force me into a contract, not after her parents forced her to drop out of Hogwarts.”

“I wish I had your mum,” Millicent said.  “My parents gave into the Crabbes this summer.  They agree that I’ll be Mrs. Vincent Crabbe next summer.”

“Congratulations,” Pansy said.  “Vince has been sweet on you since first year, it’s so good when these things end well.”

“This isn’t ending well,” Millicent said.  “Just because he likes me doesn’t mean he should be allowed to marry me when I don’t like him back.  Besides, he took my spot on the Quidditch and I’ll never forgive that.”

“At least you know what you’ll be doing after school,” Pansy complained.  “I swear, if the Malfoy’s delay finalizing a contract for Draco and I one more time…”

“You’ll finally think Draco might be interested in someone else?” Daphne said.  Pansy had been scheming to become the next Mrs. Malfoy since first year, and the other girls had decided they were tired of it sometime in third.

“Like you,” Pansy said.  “I assure you, my Drakie-pie has more sense than to go after a polluted bloodline like the Greengrasses.”

“And for that I am glad,” Daphne said.

“Oh, Daph, officially you should be extremely disappointed,” Tracey said.  “Millie, do you think there’ll be Quidditch this year.  Maybe Urquhurt will let girls on this year.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think the competition will be as strong with all the mudbloods gone,” Millicent said.  “And I was only allowed to try out last year because Professor Snape made him include girls.  He didn’t pick any of us and not even the three loser houses have girls at beater.”

“I think only the Harpies do,” Samantha said.  “Anybody else’s parents try to sell them this summer?”

“My mum kept trying to get something started for me and Blaise,” Daphne said.  “But he’s made it very clear he’s never getting married.  In his experience husbands have very short life expectancies.”

“My parents keep looking at old Quidditch captains,” Tracey said.  “They’ve looked into Marcus Flint, Montague and Roger Davies but the troll clans don’t like humans, Montague is already promised to a girl in the year below us and the Davies don’t do the contracts anymore.  Not that I’d want them to, but it’s got to be better than their suggestion that they try to make a contract with Professor Snape.”

“Ew,” Samantha said.  All the girls shivered.  They respected Professor Snape but no one had ever accused him of being attractive.

“How’d your mum’s friend, the one teaching Muggle Studies, avoid getting married off, then,” Daphne asked.

“Don’t know, probably has something to do with being poor, plain and willing to hex anyone who crosses her,” Samantha said.  “She’s definitely a Death Eater now, the only female Death Eater I’ve heard of other than Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“I’d rather be a Death Eater than a Death Eater’s wife,” Millicent said.

“Draco’s aunt is both,” Pansy said.  “Draco thinks she’s a bit crazy but I think she’s inspirational.”

“Officially she’s what all Slytherin girls aspire to be,” Daphne said.

“A crazy killer completely devoted to a man who’d never look her way,” Tracey said.  The other girls all stared at her.  “What, you haven’t heard about the sordid love triangle between the Lestranges and You-Know-Who?”

“Officially he’s refered to as the Dark Lord,” Daphne said.

“And unofficially?” Samantha asked.

“We’d be better off if he was still dead and she was still in Azkaban,” Tracey said.

“Officially I never heard that but I quite agree,” Daphne said.

“Officially I am quite excited to marry a Death Eater and wait for him to come back from his little Death Eater games,” Millicent said.  “Unofficially I’m not sure why I’d even need a man, even the Dark Lord.”

“Officially I will support the Dark Lord in all his endeavers, even if I’d rather study to be a healer at St. Mungo’s,” Samantha said.

“Officially or not I’m going to become Minister of Magic regardless of who wins the war,” Tracey said.

“You girls are going to need to be more careful this year, officially or unofficially,” Pansy said.  “I’m gonna go find Draco.”  And she stepped out of the door.

“So, last year at Hogwarts ladies?” Daphne asked.

~break~

Their last year at Hogwarts was not as great as it officially should have been.  Mandatory muggle studies and Alecto Carrow proved to be worse than the depressing defence classes with her brother.  Officially, as Slytherins they were expected to support the Headmaster in imposing the new order and finding the student insurrectionists who were making this difficult.  Officially none of them except Pansy ever saw anything.  Unofficially they frequently turned their heads, walked the other way or in one case aided and abetted the miscreants in an escape.  In March Daphne’s parents wrote her telling her they’d arranged a marriage for her to a wizard named Yaxley.

When the Dark Lord descended upon Hogwarts looking for Harry Potter they were all sent out of the school by Deputy Headmistress McGonnagall.  Four of the girls accompanied Professor Slughorn with the Hogsmeade reinforcements.  Pansy stayed at the Hogshead.  By the time the battle was over Daphne was officially dead.  No one ever found her body.

Millicent Bulstrode thought that the jubilation she felt when she heard Vincent Crabbe had died was not entirely proper, and sought to hide it under a great show of mourning.  After three months of consoling his parents she decided to attend the Holyhead Harpies open tryouts.  Despite never having played in an official match she was immediately signed as a reserve.  Within a year she was starting for them.  In five years she transferred to the Tutshill Tornados, becoming the first female beater on a mixed gender team in the British league in a century.  In 2006 she played on the Champion English Quidditch World Cup Team in Malaysia.  Her parents occasionally tried to betroth her to someone else but her suitors strangely always seemed to get a bludger to the head.  No one ever mentions the four O’s and 2 E’s she got on her NEWTS.

Pansy Parkinson received the biggest shock of her life six months after the battle when Draco Malfoy was betrothed to Daphne’s younger sister Astoria.  The Greengrasses, after all were a respected old Slytherin family whose daughter had died fighting for the winning side of the war (true, there had been one or two blips on the family tree only a century old, but in the post war spirit of reconciliation and reputation rebuilding they were easily forgiven).  Pansy Parkinson was a foolish girl who had disgraced herself and her name with a very public and ill-timed outburst.  Her parents sent her to live with her aunt in Canada in order to get a fresh start.  She is currently single and a staff writer for the Canadian edition of Witch Weekly.

Samantha Spinx applied and was accepted to the St Mungo’s trainee healer program.  Three years later she was a fully trained healer assigned to the accidental spell-damage ward.  She is tipped to become the next head of the ward as soon as her boss retires.  Four years after the war she started dating Blaise Zabini, her current boyfriend who she lives with on the East End.  Neither of them intend to get married anytime soon.

Tracey Davis joined the Ministry out of Hogwarts and was placed as an assistant in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Division (a job seen as a fitting test for a Slytherin after the Voldemort Wars).  She diligently worked to increase its profile and resources and after the retirement of Perkins and the promotion of Arthur Weasley found herself its head after six years of working there.  She maneuvered from this position to combine the division with the Muggle Worthy Excuse committee and various other small offices to create the Department of Muggle Affairs which she is now the head of.  Details of her lovelife have been kept completely private, though there are some rumors of a secret marriage to a muggle banker.  Some people say that after Shacklebolt retires she may become the next minister.


End file.
